Oblivious
by aevee
Summary: Rory's oblivious. Paris' in pain. It all comes down to two glass doors at the airport. "I’d thrown her my heart. She’d caught it, and without even taking one little look at it in her hands, had hurled it onto the waxed floor of the airport terminal."


AN: Reloaded this, since for some odd reason, decided to remove my story. But anyway, I'm sorry if the characters are all twisted out of shape, and please, review after you read!!

She had always been in front of me, and I had never known, never realized until it was too late.

I guess it was due to the fact that she had always been a part of my life. I had grown so accustomed to having her there that her presence no longer struck me as special in any way. Within the hurricane of chaos that was the boys and my love triangle, Paris had always stood by my side, willing to lend an ear when I needed to vent, or to give me some brilliant piece of advice when I felt lost. I had never once thought that anything was out of the ordinary, nor had I ever taken the time to truly appreciate Paris' presence. It just seemed as though it was an unspoken rule that friends had to be there for friends when they had problems. Paris was there for me, end of story.

What I never realized, and that came too late, was that there was something out of the ordinary, that Paris was there for a reason other than just because friends were there for friends. It had never occurred to me that maybe my ranting on and on about the boys, and how I would never dare break either one of their hearts but had to because I had to make a choice, would have been secretly hurting Paris. I thought my words were innocuous enough, and though they were laden with my sorrow and pain, I never thought they would hurt Paris in the way that they had. Maybe if I'd woken up sooner and opened my eyes to what exactly was happening in front of me, I would have been able to do something about it.

It hit me like a ton of bricks that day, when I got that message. Paris' message. Everything that had previously evaded my sight, or that I'd unconsciously chosen to ignore, hit me square in between the eyes, and I realized my mistake. But it was too late, everything had gone too far, Paris was too far gone. I couldn't do anything about it. My last ditch attempt to try to salvage the situation only served to wrench my heart from my chest, and it shattered that night, on the waxed floor of the airport terminal.

I'd gotten home from a day out with my mom, just a simple relaxing day to try to calm my frazzled nerves, when I got the message. The Dean and Jess problem had been weighing too heavily on my mind as of late, and my mother decided that with drastic situations came drastic measures. Pulling me out of my moping session early in the morning, I was forced to face the daylight, and surprisingly, it had done me some remote amount of good. So when I had finally escaped my mother's wrath and sent her off to Luke's, I decided to head on home and perhaps grab a nice book and settle down on the couch for a long reading session, rather than retreat to mope in my room as usual. I was just about to rush up the stairs and grab a change of clothes when the blinking lights on the answering machine caught my eye. So we'd had a couple of calls while we were out, not at all abnormal. Frowning, I pressed the play button, hoping against hope that not one of them would be from either of the boys.

The first of the messages was from my grandmother, telling my mother to remember to bring something for the potluck they were going to attend later on in the week. My mother had told me about it with the most serious grimace I have ever seen on her face, and I couldn't help an amused grin as I listened to my grandmother ramble on and on about how nice it would be to be able to spend some quality time with her daughter, even if it meant that they would have to deal with crazy old lunatic men. There was a soft click that signaled that the phone had been put down, and a beep, before the answering machine moved onto the next message.

"Rory? It's Paris."

My eyes widened in shock. Paris? The shock was quickly replaced with a soft smile. It was nice to hear from Paris. I made a mental note to call her back as soon as I'd finished listening to the messages.

"It's evident that you're not home right now, so I guess I'll just have to settle with leaving a message."

I walked over to the chair beside the phone and sat down, pulling my knees up to my chest and settling in comfortably to hear what Paris had to say.

"Rory, I'm calling because..."

There was an awkward silence, in which I could only hear Paris soft breathing. And then she gave a frustrated, bitter laugh.

"Oh, what the heck, why am I even trying to say this in an innocuous way? Rory, I'm calling to say goodbye."

There was another pause, as though she was giving me time to absorb what she'd just said, to let it all sink in. My first reaction, after my brain had finally processed and come to a conclusion as to the meaning of her words, was denial. I could feel the beginnings of a forced laugh of defiance bubbling up.

"Of course, knowing you," Paris finally said, scoffing, "your first reaction to what I've just said would be to laugh it off in denial."

My laugh died away immediately.

"But I'm serious, Gilmore."

Paris' switching to my last name had never been a good sign, especially in something as serious as this.

"I'm calling to say goodbye. I'm leaving Chilton, leaving Stars Hollow. I'm moving."

Moving? Paris? All that went through my head at that moment was confusion, and a sudden sense of emptiness. Paris' bitter laugh didn't do anything except sweep me into a sudden painful kind of numb, where your body can't feel anything except the muted pain that's pounding in your heart.

"I'm moving, in the physical sense, and I'm moving on. Chilton's academics are rivaled by many other schools in the country. My academics won't be sacrificed in this step forward. Stars Hollow, on the other hand, has nothing to offer anymore. In simpler terms, there's nothing worth holding on to.

"I'm in a lot of pain, Rory. No, this isn't my mother's doing, nor is it my mother's decision for me to move. I made that myself. I don't think I deserve this pain, and I don't think that I should live with it, so I'm moving away, to somewhere where I won't hurt anymore."

Paris was hurting? Since when?

"So I guess this is where our friendship ends. It's been great knowing you, Gilmore."

She laughed her bitter laugh again, and each derisive note stung.

"You're the only thing that could possibly be able to keep me back here, and the only thing that's pushing me away. You're what makes me the happiest, yet the one thing that causes me the most pain. I hurt because of you, Gilmore. Of course it's been great knowing you."

Because of me? Paris was hurting, and it was because of me?

"I'm leaving tonight on the 10:20 flight out of here. I don't know why I'm telling you this, but there's nothing I can do about that now."

There was a pause, and I could almost see Paris' wry smile.

"I guess this means goodbye."

"Yeah, I guess it does." I managed to whisper through my numbness.

"Well... Bye then, Gil... Rory."

There was a quiet click as Paris put down her phone, and a beep, signifying the start of a new message. I could vaguely identify Dean's voice rumbling out his message, but I couldn't make out the words. The only words running through my head were Paris'.

'_I hurt because of you Gilmore.'_

'_You're what makes me the happiest, yet the one thing that causes me the most pain.'_

'_You're the only thing that could possibly be able to keep me back here, and the only thing that's pushing me away.'_

'_Stars Hollow... nothing to offer anymore... nothing worth holding on to.'_

"Nothing worth holding on to?" I could feel my throat constricting, "Not even me?"

There was no answer, just a heavy silence permeated with tears, and Dean's message ending and Jess' beginning. I got up, numb, ignorant to the fact that the answering machine was still playing its messages to me, and trudged up the stairs. I couldn't feel the stairs beneath my feet, all I could feel was a muted pain.

I got to my room, opened the door, and walked towards my bed. The door swung back and forth, creaking slightly, and I turned to face it. I watched as my world began to sway, and suddenly, I found myself slowly watching as the horizon began to get lower and lower. My hair fluttered up around me, and the soft thump that signified that I'd fallen onto my mattress drawled out for at least a minute. My hair took its time in joining me on my bed, overtop the covers, and when it finally did, I found myself numbly staring at the darkened ceiling.

How? How could I have gone for so long, not seeing the symptoms? Not knowing that Paris was in pain? How could I have missed it? Inside, I knew how. I had been too wrapped up in my own little world where I wallowed in self-pity, and had completely overlooked everything else. Paris had always been there for me, and I had taken it all for granted. Now she was leaving, and I finally realized just how much she meant to me.

Before my eyes, between my dull pupils and the shadows on the ceiling, flashed memories of Paris. The way she smiled at me during presentations, making me feel warm and supported. The way she always laughed when I felt upset, and even though it might seem insensitive to others, to me, it was infectious to the point that I would forget to pout and would instead laugh along with her. The way she would run her fingers along my cheek, and gently slip stray strands of brown behind my ear when they decided to float in front of my eyes. The way her eyes flashed dangerously when she was angry, while her lips twisted themselves into a smile with layers of hidden intent. All those little things that I always noticed but never seemed to appreciate came flooding back.

There had always been little clues, dropped here and there, scattered in the most obvious places, but always overlooked by me. The way she used to chuckle and whisper "Love you, Gilmore." at the end of a long telephone call. The way she used to trace her fingers delicately along my spine, making me shiver, and whispering "You know you love it." playfully in my ear. The way she'd held my hand, intertwined her fingers with mine, as I fought back tears while we watched a mushy romantic movie in our room. The flicker of pain that always shone in her eyes when I went to her for comfort and protection from the boys. I had always thought that the pain was in sympathy for me, but as each second ticked by, I began to realize that that pain was her own. She was in pain with each and every word I mentioned about the boys. I had been oblivious, and it had cost me something too important to lose.

My mother found me still lying on my bed, staring up at the opaque ceiling, when she got back hours after I'd gotten home.

"Rory?"

I made no move to respond, only watched as a looming figure emerged and towered over me.

"Did you listen to the messages on the answering machine?"

"Yes."

My voice was a hoarse whisper, full of unshed tears and infinite regret.

"So you heard Paris' message."

I managed to choke out another "Yes." before rolling away, unable to face my mother.

"Rory, we can still make it."

She took my hand and pulled me upward, lifting me from my bed, but still unable to raise my stupor. I found myself on my feet, being dragged towards the door, and I could vaguely make out what my mother was saying.

"Rory, Paris is leaving, she's probably at the airport right now. We can still make it if we hurry."

No. No. No!

"I'm not going to the airport, Mom!"

I yanked my hand from out of hers and immediately backpedaled several steps.

"Rory!"

"No!"

I stood facing her, anger and confusion and hurt plastered on my face, swaying slightly from all the emotions flickering through me.

"I'm not going, Mom. Paris wants to leave, and it's because of me."

"It may have been because of you, Rory, but you can still make it right again. Look, I've never seen you this down before. Not even when something happened between you and Dean, or you and Jess. It's obvious, even from just that, that Paris means a lot to you. We _have _to go to the airport, Rory. We can still make it, you can still get Paris back."

My mother, the perpetually immature and frivolous Lorelai Gilmore, stared at me with utmost seriousness in her eyes, and without another word, turned and walked down the stairs.

I sat silently in the car, forehead pressed against the cool glass of the window. Cars sped past, their lights leaving a long trail of brilliance that hurt my eyes. I watched as my mother ran through a red light, listened as she swore under her breath while the other drivers honked at her.

"We'll make it, Rory, don't worry."

I could only nod, too choked up with emotion to try to express my gratitude towards my mother. She understood though, and pressed down harder on the gas pedal, urging the car forward, making it strain as it flew towards the airport.

Lorelai dropped me off at the entrance to the departures terminal, and with amazing speed, I leapt out of the car and whisked into the airport. My stupor lifted, I felt my senses going into overdrive, aware of anything and everything around me. The air smelt of luggage and tears of separation, and it hurt to breathe in the sorrow that hung so tangibly around me, but I ignored it, focusing instead on what needed to be done. I whirled 'round and 'round, trying to spot the flare of blonde that would lead me to Paris, but everywhere I looked, that spark of blonde would only lead me to another. Once, I finally spotted a person whom I thought to be Paris and I dashed towards her, only to have her turn and my hopes drop as I skidded to a halt on the shiny airport floor.

It seemed like an eternity before my ears picked up that familiar voice, saying goodbye to the few dear ones that she had cared to inform of her departure. I turned slowly, unable to believe, afraid of being once again disappointed, but when I finally caught sight of her, my breath left me in a single whoosh.

"Paris..."

The whisper left my lips and was immediately swallowed by all the noise in the airport.

"Paris!"

Everything seemed to move in slow motion as she turned her head, searching for the source of the cry for her. When her deep hazel eyes finally locked onto my blue ones, I was ready, and dashed towards her.

Only to have her say, "Stop where you are, Gilmore."

I skidded to a halt, staring unbelievingly at her.

"Paris, I-"

"What are you doing here?"

"I-"

"You're not supposed to be here!"

"Paris, I'm really sorry! I never knew... never meant... I never realized... I was stupid... I..."

Everything swirled together into an inseparable tangle, and all the words that were dying to burst out of my mouth fought for first place within my constricted throat. They all died away, however, when Paris uttered her two words.

"Too late."

She turned away from me, a graceful sweep of her blonde hair that was so far away, and strode toward the glass doors.

"Paris..."

"Don't do this, Gilmore. Don't make it any harder than it is."

She never turned to face me, but she had stopped moving towards those glass doors that threatened to separate us. I took a step forward, and the sound of my footstep seemed to echo too loudly for my ears to handle.

"Stop where you are!"

I didn't listen, just kept walking. Paris' back seemed to tremble.

"Gilmore, I'm serious, stay were you are."

"Paris, I'm not going to let you go..."

"You can't do anything about it, Gilmore!"

"Yes I can! I'm the one who's causing you the pain, because I'm so oblivious! Isn't that right, Paris?!"

She didn't answer, only swayed where she stood. I continued striding towards her, willing her to stay where she was.

"What if I said that I've realized what's going on? What if I said that I know what you're feeling? What if I said that I-"

"Shut up!"

Paris whirled around, anger flaming in her eyes, and glared at me.

"You have no idea what it was like, Rory, what it was like to listen to you go on about you're dear little boys," her voice dripped with sarcasm, "when I... when I..."

"I know, Paris."

"YOU DON'T KNOW!"

She spun away from me, eyes glittering with hysterical anger and tears, and ran through the glass doors. They were just about to close when I managed to unclog my throat and shout the words I should have shouted a long time ago, what I'd just come to realize.

"Paris, I love you!"

She stumbled to a stop, and I watched through the ever-closing crack between those automatic glass doors as she turned her head and whispered, "Too late."

I'd thrown her my heart. She'd caught it, and without even taking one little look at it in her hands, had hurled it onto the waxed floor of the airport terminal.

Paris disappeared that night. I was in too much of a daze to have taken the time to check where the flight was headed. All I could do was collapse into my mother's arms when she came to collect me from my place in front of the glass doors, where my heart lay shattered in a puddle of tears.

It's been so long. Everyday, I think about Paris, about what we used to share, about what I'd been so oblivious to, about what I'd lost. I think about what we could have had, if I hadn't been so oblivious to everything. Things would have turned out differently. I wouldn't only have her photo to hold onto, I would have her.

"Rory?"

"Come in, the door isn't locked."

My mother pushes the door open slightly as I put my photo of Paris back in its place on my bedside table.

"There's someone at the door for you."

I nod and follow her down the hallway. She goes into her room, and I trudge down the stairs. The front door's opened slightly, the late summer breeze seeping in, and as I reach the bottom of the stairs, I swear that I can smell an all too familiar fragrance. Shaking it off as severe nostalgia, I reach for the door knob.

"Rory..."

"Paris?"


End file.
